Sleeping in Silence
by the-beginning-of-the-end
Summary: mello left, matt moved on. for Obsessive and Melissa


Authors note: more death note fanfiction. Because i get bored at home. And because i felt like it. It's kinda sad... but i hope i kept them in character and it isn't too confusing . It's once again for the amazing Obsessive, and for Melissa whom i miss heaps. Credit must go to SlvrSoleAlchmst1 who wrote the amazing story Onions, which is referred to later on.

Disclaimer: of course i dont own it. I can barely finish one of my own stories.

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The street light shone through the crack where the curtains didn't quite fit, creating a white line on the tatty carpet. The street was quiet, no cars passed by and there were no late night party-goers on this side of town. Back where he used to live, back in that third floor apartment in the slums, there was always noise. But that was a year and a half ago. Matt was used to the silence now. Used to not being awoken by flashing lights and sirens, used to not dead-bolting his door three times even while in the house, used to not having a gun pointed at his head by an angry flatmate whose face he just can't remember for things he may or may not have done.

But tonight he was awake. He blamed it on the sleeping position he'd chosen, and he didn't have the heart to move the snowy-haired boy using his chest as a pillow. He was on his back, both legs bent at the knees, yet one was pointing towards the dark ceiling and the other flat on the bed. Not as uncomfortable as it may sound, but not a stance he'd get to sleep in any time soon.

That was okay with him though. It gave him more time to watch the younger boy sleep. He wasn't really that much younger, a few years at the most, but he just _seemed_ so much younger because he was so small and frail. But that didn't worry Matt in the slightest. This boy, whom he'd literally _ran_ into eighteen months ago, had a stronger mind than everybody his age and most people Matt's own age. That's what got Matt hooked. He'd gone through dates that had good bodies, yes, but their minds left a lot to be desired. Good for a screw, but not a hell of a lot else. And Matt needed that 'hell-of-a-lot-else'. If he couldn't have a good discussion, he'd get bored, and a bored Matt is **definitely** not a safe Matt.

The boy stirred, his hair like feathers on Matt's bare chest. Matt grinned. Yeah, not sleeping in silence was much, much better than not sleeping in noise.

Mello growled, jamming his sunglasses onto his face to avoid the harsh glare streaming through his window. Not his window, _their_ window. Not his room, _their_ room. Nothing was his anymore. Not even his life. It was all _theirs_, to do with what they please. And whose fault was that? Mello wasn't really sure anymore. Was it his? Who knows. And what did it matter? He had no family, no one to care about where he'd disappeared to three years earlier. There _was_ his flatmate, but Mello was sure the other boy would be glad that he'd gone. Yeah, nobody gave a damn about him.

This room that he lived in that was not his was painted a striking red. Every inch of it was red. The ceiling, the carpet, the window frame. They'd been curious as to why he'd requested such a room, but his reply was brief. He'd told them it was because blood was red. They laughed, thought that mighty appropriate for their new member. He told himself it was because Matt was red. He didn't laugh.

Matt, the flatmate he'd left behind. The boy whom he was reminded of every time he entered this room. The one person he was sad to leave. He hated himself for caring so much about the boy with red hair, hated himself for hurting him, hated himself for _hating himself. _

The door creaked open. "Wearing sunglasses inside again." A voice acknowledged, earning a deep laugh from the person behind them. "Probably thinks it makes him look cool."

"What the hell do you want?" Mello demanded, venomous eyes hidden behind darkened lenses. He was not in the mood to deal with them. They made him angry, made him want to shoot someone.

"No need to get testy Mello. We just came by to tell you that the boss wants a word with you." Great, just what he needed. An even bigger temptation to blow somebody's head off. His hand itched for a gun.

"Fine." Mello replied curtly, turning away from the window and stalking out past the two men. It's times like these when he's glad that his foster parents sent him to a shrink to help with his anger problems.

"Looks like it's your time to shine." One of them whispered as he shoved past. His eyes narrowed behind his glasses, but he didn't say anything, didn't want them to know just how anxious he was.

Matt stood at the stainless steel bench, a small knife clutched loosely in his right hand. The snowy-haired boy sat at the small dining table, a comic book open before him. Matt grinned at the sight. His blue eyes wandered back to the tomatoes in front of him, and he brought the knife slowly through the closest one. A little juice spilt out, but no big mess was made. So he made another incision, and another, until the once-whole tomato was cut neatly into cubes. He smiled, pleased at his progress. He slid the cubes off the wooden chopping board and into the pot sitting on the stove.

Then he grabbed an onion, positioning it carefully on the board. He heard the turn of a page and his eyes flitted sideways to see the boy engrossed in the book. If there's one thing he prefers about his new life, it's that he's _always_ smiling. The snowy-haired boy makes it that much easier. He brought the knife down upon the onion, and in the back of his mind, a memory dusted itself off and started doing a tap-dance, trying to gain his attention. Matt, already bored with cutting up vegetables, let the memory flow into his mind. And he instantly regretted it.

He was back in his old apartment. There was a figure in the doorframe, though while it may have once been in color, now just a silhouette, a faceless being watching him. He remembered now; he'd been making pasta sauce and it ended in the silhouette shooting the onion for some uncomprehensible reason. It may have been crazy, but it was fun.

Matt choked, bent over clutching his stomach. The snowy-haired boy reacted instantly, leaving the table and helping Matt stand up. He led the older boy back to his chair before grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. "Are you okay?" He asked softly, genuinely worried. Matt raised his eyes and gave him a wry smile.

"Yeah, just felt sick for a second there." Matt explained, taking a sip from the bottle he was offered. The snowy-haired boy nodded in understanding and let Matt pull him onto his lap. He lent back against the older boy's chest and let his eyes flutter closed. Matt put his arms around the boy, resting his cheek on the nest of white. He kept Matt calm, and for that, Matt was eternally grateful.

"Hey Pretty."

"Sexy, over here."

"Wanna join us babe?"

Mello flinched, but blocked the taunts out. It took all his self-control to not lash out at the prisoners inhabiting the cells which lined the concrete walls. He wished he'd brought the mp3 player he'd snatched a few weeks back, just to help keep the voices from penetrating his defences.

This was all worth it. In the end, it'd all be worth it. He told himself this over and over, until he finally began to believe it. And if he believed it, it had to be true. Right? Right. So why the hell didn't that make him feel any better?

"I don't know why you're so desperate to see him." The guard leading him said conversationally. Mello didn't reply, so he continued. "It must've cost a lot to get yourself here, and I'm not just talking money. I've seen a good few men come through here, filled with good intentions, and leave looking a lot worse than they did coming in, if you catch my drift."

Mello slid his eyes to the side, unsure of what to make of this comment. He understood what the guard _meant_. He knew when he made the plans that not only was it hard to get **in** to see this guy, but it was hard to get **out**.

"Whatever it is that makes you want to get out of the chain, it must mean a hell of a lot to you. Because if it doesn't, I suggest you turn around now."

Why did he want out of the chain? Simple. Did it mean _a hell of a lot to him_, as the guard put it? Of course it did. That's why he's here. That's why he hasn't turned and run. That's why he's risking his life to meet with this guy.

"Oi, Blondie. How much you charge?"

Matt was asleep when his cellphone buzzed along the bedside table. He was still asleep when the snowy-haired boy reached over Matt's chest to grab it, pressing the answer key to stop the noise. He held it lightly to his ear and answered.

"Hello?"

"Matt?"

His eyebrow's furrowed together and he glanced at Matt's expressionless face. "Matt's sleeping. I can get him to call you back." He said softly. He heard a low growl travel through the phone.

"Wake him up."

He shook his head, even though he knew the other person couldn't see him. "It's three in the morning. I'll get him to call you when he gets up."

"I don't give a damn what the time is, wake him up."

"He'll call you in the morning." He said simply, pressing his finger down on the end key. He put the phone down beside his pillow and snuggled back under the comforter. His head rested lightly against Matt's shoulder and he was just about to drift back to sleep when the phone went off again, buzzing along the bed until it came to a stop at the base of his neck and continued to shake against him.

He scowled and snatched it up, once again pressing the answer key. "Hello?" He asked, even though he was pretty certain he knew who it'd be, he didn't want to chance it.

"Wake him up."

He sighed. "I told you before, he'll call you in the morning."

"Look kid, I don't really give a damn who you are, but if you don't wake Matt the hell up, I'm going to keep on ringing until you do."

Now, he realized that he could just turn the phone off, but Matt hated it being off. Something about emergencies and stuff. Which is why it was on vibrate, not silence. So he thought about his options.

One. Hang up on the pushy bastard and switch the phone off.

Two. Wake Matt up.

Which was the lesser of two evils? Matt'd be pissed at being woken up, but he'd probably be more pissed if he turned the phone off. So, sighing, the snowy-haired boy reached over and gave Matt a small tap on the nose.

The older boy crinkled his nose and murmured in his sleep. Another tap. Matt let out a small giggle, earning a raised eyebrow from the snowy-haired boy. This tapping Matt's nose business was getting him nowhere. So instead, he lent over and bit the tip of said nose softly. Matt squirmed, but his eyes fluttered open. He grinned up at the smaller boy who raised his other eyebrow before dangling the phone in Matt's face.

"Some loser won't stop calling you." He said simply as Matt took the phone, pushing himself into a sitting position.

"Yeah?" He asked, stifling a yawn.

"Matt."

Matt froze. Blinked. Then blinked again. And a third time for good measure. "Who is this?" He questioned hesitantly. The voice... It was familiar. Yet from where? School? Nah, he'd never really made any friends at school. But whoever it was, they were from a long time ago.

"Matt." The voice bordered disbelief.

"Yeah. Who is this?"

"Matt." There was something weird about the voice now. Something in it that sounded a little off.

"We've established that already. Now who the fuck is this?" Matt demanded, his patience with the person becoming increasingly thin.

"Matt."

"Oh for god's sake!" Matt exclaimed with all intentions of hanging up on the repetitive freak.

"It's Mello." The voice was low, nearly a whisper. But it stopped Matt from hanging up just yet.

Mello... Did he know a Mello? And what kind of name's _Mello_ anyway? Sound's like that drink, Mello Yellow, those people that do coca-cola put out as a publicity stunt. It didn't really taste that bad, kind of like a lemony flavor... Wait, not the point at the moment. No, at the moment, the point was to work out who the hell this Mello guy was and where the heck he knew him from.

"Matt?" The voice was hesitant and... Was that fear? Fear at not being remembered maybe. Or something else?

"Where do I know you from?" Matt asked, perplexed.

"Where do you live?"

The question startled him. "Excuse me?"

"You've moved. Where do you live now?"

He'd moved. When had he moved? Coming up two years... So this person knew him before he moved, back when he lived in that third floor flat with that angry blonde flatmate who used to- Wait, blonde. Yellow. Mello Yellow.

"Mello." Matt whispered, realization dawning on him. The angry blonde flatmate who was always decked out in tight black leather, even if it was forty degrees out. The angry blonde flatmate who used to point a gun in his face for the smallest things, like leaving dead batteries in the cereal. The angry blonde flatmate who'd walked out without so much as a good-bye.

"You bastard." Matt hissed, the hand not holding the phone clenching the sheet below him. The snowy-haired boy watched with worry, eyes flickering down to Matt's fist every now and again. "Who the hell do you think you are, calling me here? What the hell makes you think you have the right to just waltz back on into my life like nothing ever happened?" Matt raged. The snowy-haired boy sat up a little straighter, hand instinctively reaching out and taking Matt's.

"Matt..."

"Screw you Mello." Matt spat before abruptly ending the call. He threw the phone across the room, watching it with venomous eyes as it clattered to the carpet. The small hand clasping his gave a quick squeeze and Matt turned to the younger boy sitting next to him. He gave him a strained grin and slung his arm around the slender shoulders. The snowy-haired boy smiled softly and moved closer to lean against him, closing his eyes. Matt shuffled into a more comfortable position before letting his eyes close.

He then realized that he was trying to fight back nonexistent tears.

The sun was low in the sky, angry red rays floating softly down the empty street. The bike let off a ticking sound as it cooled down, sitting half on the road, half on the grass verge. Boots clacked loudly as heavy steps carried him to the deep red door.

_Red_. Why the hell was everything about him _red_?

It'd taken Mello four days to track down the local chain gang leader. Then another two to get the information he'd needed. Three days on the road before having to stop in some godforsaken town for a whole week to get the damn bike fixed when it decided that it didn't want to go any further. And finally, after five days driving in the blistering heat, he'd pulled up in front of the single-story house, tired and irritable.

There was a car in the drive. He remembered Matt eyeing the car at that shoddy second-hand dealer in that backwater place just out of the city they'd lived in together. He'd suggested that Matt buy it, but Matt'd shrugged him off, saying that they already had the bike so he didn't need it. He then went on to add, with a smirk, that besides, if he needed to get anywhere, Mello would drive him. So the car was soon forgotten.

Mello didn't even pause to think when he reached the door. He'd had plenty time to think, no use worrying about it all now. He reached for the handle, turning it and giving it a rough shove open.

The hallway he faced was empty of people, but not of possessions. Lining the white walls were frames of all sizes, holding photos of all natures. Directly ahead, sitting on the floor at the bend in the hall was a large vase, full with fake flowers. Mello wrinkled his nose in disgust. Flowers?

His head jerked sideways as voices floated in through the crack below the closed door just to his right. Narrowing his eyes, he crept forward. Taking a breath, he pushed the door open and stepped through it.

The voices stopped, though the tv continued on in the background. Two heads turned to face him; one with raised eyebrows and a displeased expression, the other with wide eyes and slightly agape mouth. Mello didn't say anything, just charged on before coming to a stop in front of the youths lounging on the couch.

"It took me six days to find out where you'd disappeared to." He hissed through clenched teeth, frustration boiling over now that he had the reason for his actions in plain sight. His eyes flickered to the snowy-haired boy perched half on Matt's lap. "You must be the punk-ass who answered the phone."

"M-mello..." Matt choked out after a stunned moment. The blonde simply raised an eyebrow. Matt glanced down at the snowy-haired boy who was watching Mello with distrust. Swallowing roughly, Matt found his strength. "What the hell are you doing here?" He demanded, pulling the snowy-haired boy further onto his lap protectively.

"If you hadn't hung up the god damn phone, you'd know now, wouldn't you?" Mello sniped.

Matt carefully moved the snowy-haired boy and stood. "Don't you dare make this sound like it's my fault." He hissed, advancing on the blonde with all the rage he could muster. Mello said nothing, leaving a single brow raised as if to say,_ it's not? _Matt's blue eyes narrowed and he thrust a finger in Mello's direction. "You're the one who up and left without a word."

Mello's eyes bulged. "You think I _wanted_ to leave?" He blurted incredulously. "Why the hell would I have _wanted_ to leave?"

"Well you didn't seem all too eager to rush back." Matt pointed out brashly.

Mello lunged forward, grabbing Matt by the shoulders. "They were going to kill you." He shouted each word slowly and carefully into Matt's face, the younger boy's eyes widening as he stood completely still, not trying to remove himself from the other boy's grasp. When Matt didn't say anything, and the snowy-haired boy made no move to do anything, Mello tightened his grip on Matt. "They were going to kill you." He repeated quietly, more to himself, as though the reality of it had finally hit him. He'd thought about it countless times, and knew exactly the extremity of their threats, but now that he had Matt standing _right there_ after **so** long, he realized how much it'd hurt to lose him forever. When he left all that time ago, he knew he could, _would_, come back. He'd always be able to see him again.

"Who?" Matt breathed, voice hollow.

"Them."

"Who's them?" Matt persisted.

"Them!" Mello shrieked, hands dropping from Matt's frame and flying into the air. "The people who killed my parents!"

"Oh hell." Matt whispered, eyes wide, staring at Mello. Mello wasn't crying, he'd done enough of that as a child when he first learned his parents had died. No, he was shaking ever-so slightly, hands now in fists by his sides, eyes narrowed into rage-filled slits and, damn it, _that snowy-haired boy wouldn't stop _**staring**_ and Matt looked liked he'd just kicked his cat and he'd just gone through hell to get back to Matt and Matt didn't give a _**shit**

"Mello..." Matt started, stepping forward with his hand outstretched, as though to brush Mello's face. But as his fingers ghosted lightly over the boy's jaw, he cringed and shook his head, pulling his hand back as though in pain. He was not going to be made to feel bad about this. He knew Mello's parents were murdered. He'd already given away his sympathy for this particular topic. He wasn't going to waste any more of his life with his emotions bogged down by the past. He clenched his hand into a fist and pressed it hard against his thigh."What do you want me to say? That'll I'll drop everything and go back to that dingy apartment where cops used to drive past at ungodly hours of the night and you used to threaten to kill me regularly and I couldn't get to sleep because you'd go away for days at a time without notice? What'll have changed? The cops will still drive past at three in the morning to some fight, you'll still shove your gun in my face, and I still won't be able to sleep, because I'll be shit scared that if I do, you won't be there in the morning."

"Matt, I never wanted to leave." Mello said calmly, taking a step forward.

Matt instantly shrunk back, towards the snowy-haired boy still on the couch. "No Mello. Not again. My life here's good, heck, it's great. I've quit smoking, I went back and finished school, and I have someone I like that actually likes me back. I'm not going to throw that away, because it'll be too damn hard to get back again." He said, shaking his head. He reached a hand back to find the comforting touch of the snowy-haired boy. "You need to leave."

"Matt..." Mello raised an arm, stretching out to Matt.

"Now, Mello. Don't make me have the police charge you for breaking and entering."

Mello sighed, arm dropping back to his side. He glanced at the snowy-haired boy, then back at Matt. "Fine. I'll go." He dropped his eyes and headed for the door. "But Matt,"

"Yeah?"

Hand hovering on the doorknob, head hung low, he let out a shaky sigh. "Just remember, silence isn't always golden."


End file.
